(Second Generation) Children of the Nations
by ILostMyNameToTheMadness
Summary: Meet the sons of the Allies and Axis, minus Japan and China. I know this was supposed to be a story about the group runaway, but I suffered a severe writers block and came up w/ something else for them. So this simply contains the overviews for each of the characters. (William, Trevor, etc.) I'm writing a new story now, see this for details on the children of the Allies and Axis.
1. America: William

William watches from around a corner as his father goes to answer the ringing house phone. He already knew who it was and what it was about, but he couldn't tear himself away from the unfolding scene before him. William is the son of America, and shared a couple of things with his dad. Their hair color and speech patterns mostly. William has his dad's sandy blonde hair but his was styled into backward spikes. A streak of red coms down to his forehead to hang across his nose to the left side, just how he liked it. His eyes are a deep brown color that reflected with mischief.

William wears a punkish black tank top over a white undershirt, torn and faded jeans, red and black sneakers, and silver studs up the side of his right ear. He was the look of a punk, and the attitude to match. America picks up the phone with a somewhat annoyed expression. Those calls must come in a lot. "Hello? Yes, that's me." He listens for a minute before half-groaning. "Another fight? Who provoked this time?" A moment of silence there then the very faint explanation of the person on the other end. America sighs. "Yeah, I'll talk to him. Thanks for calling. Bye." He hangs up.

William knows what comes next. It almost happens like clockwork. He turns toward the staircase to the second floor, having exactly three seconds before his dad decides to 'talk' about what happened at school today. Three, Two, "William." One. The teen turns over his shoulder. "...'Sup dad?" His father motions him back into the living room, hands stuffed into his pockets and eyes seeming sad. William sighs quietly. He comes back over and leans against his spot on the wall, closest to the stairs. "That was your principle." The teen holds out the peace sign.

"Congratulations dad, you win the award for best at stating the obvious." His sarcasm was rude, but its only because he wants attention. The fights however always have a reason. "William, you have to stop letting those jerks pull you into fights. Who were they picking on this time? Was it that friend of yours, Jonah or something?" William's gaze suddenly turns defensive. "Jonas, dad. His name is _Jonas._" America sighs, taking off his glasses to clean the lenses. "Fine, were they picking on Jonas?" His son's attention being turned away and his slight frown tells America that's what happened.

"Maybe you have to let Jonas fight his own battles." William scoffs. "Jonas needs me dad. He doesn't know how to fight, he just watches and takes it. It makes me sick." The last word is emphasized. "Sometimes its better to let them handle it their own way." His father presses on, replacing his hands into his pockets. William growls in frustration. They couldn't ever agree on anything, its always about the fights. "They deserved it..." He mumbles, referring to the kids he beat up. "You took on three guys," His father begins to recite from the phone call.

"You broke one's nose, gave another a black eye, and punched the last one in the stomach. You made him throw up." The words sank in, but deep down William felt victorious. They shouldn't have messed with Jonas. Serves them right. "We're done here." William dismisses himself, walking up the stairs with his hands in his pockets.


	2. Germany and Italy: Benjamin and Carlo

Germany and Italy watch two teenagers race around the track Axis usually trains on. These two were Benjamin and Carlo, the sons of Germany and Italy. They shared a close rivalry, often racing and sparring to challenge who was stronger and who needed to train even more. Benjamin was Germany's son, Carlo was Italy's.

Benjamin was a smaller boy with a lean body type due to his intense workouts and diet. He has a mixture of blonde and brown hair, short and soft. His eyes are the most pure blue anyone has ever seen, making it ironic that he looked to innocent despite who his father is. He typically wears a uniform much like his father's, only smaller and the jacket was open to show his white tank top. Benjamin is very competitive and hates losing more then anything, whether it was a competition or losing an item somewhere. Despite this he is dependable and never gives up.

Carlo is a bit taller then the German teenager, but nowhere near as fit. Carlo is scrawny and often pigs out on Pasta, just like his father. He has light brown hair that parts at the left, dark brown eyes, and a golden earring on his right ear. He wears a green tee-shirt with the word 'PASTA' across the front in bold white letters, white shorts, and brown shoes. Carlo isn't a putts like his dad though, he has typical knowledge and doesn't fear a lot of things. Usually he doesn't take his father seriously and listens to whatever Germany tells him too.

In this race Benjamin was in the lead. He held a good amount of distance between him and his friend, enjoying the warm air and gentle breeze. This was a beautiful day, no wars to take their fathers away for months. No waiting by the phones and radios, praying that the phone won't ring to tell them some horrible news. Yes, this was awesome. Benjamin crosses the finish line with a victorious smile. "I win!" He calls, launching a fist in the air. Carlo makes his way over, breathing heavily and wiping some sweat from his brow. "You beat me again Ben."

"Cheer up" was all Benjamin said before going inside and coming back out with a potato in his hand. He takes a chomp out of it, glancing at his dad. Hey, he could have German treats every now and then. Germany just sends his son a proud nod with a small smile. It wasn't much, but to Benjamin that simple gesture was enough to uplift a gloomy day. He smiles back before taking another bite of potato. "What do you wanna do now?" Carlo asks, yawning once. "I could go for a nap..." Benjamin smacks the back of the Italian's head playfully.

"You sleep plenty during class all day, I think you're fine." The two friends walk off laughing about whatever, stopping to pet a light colored cat that happened to walk over. Yes, this was awesome.


	3. England and France: Trevor and Robert

Britain and his son, Trevor, sit together in the living room of their home in London. Their legs were crossed in a sophisticated manner, teacups in their right hands. England gazed at the teenager across from him who was reading a book while sipping tea. Trevor was a definite gentleman who has never, in his life, raised his voice above a normal talking tone. He had manners, good grades, and most of all he had a wonderful sense of taste. Ever since he detected a problem in his father's recipe for scones and fixed it, no on has ever belittled the pastries again.

Trevor is an average height boy with a thin figure. He has very neat medium-length strawberry blonde hair that falls around his turquoise eyes. He wears a white dress shirt with a black tie, black dress pants, black dress shoes, and a small silver chain connecting his left back pocket to his front left pocket. His favorite teacup was a birthday present and was rather expensive, but to be able to see his son enjoy its wonderfully calming pattern made Britain happy. That cup was worth every cent he spent on it. England smiles in his casual and happy way.

"Trevor," He starts, making the gentleman look up and slide a bookmark into the page he was on. He faced his father respectfully and smiles back. "Yes father?" His English accent made him seem even more sophisticated. "Why don't you go outside and enjoy the sunlight? Who knows when the bloody rain will return." England suggests. Trevor always had his nose buried in a book so he didn't get out much. "That sounds nice. Alright." He replaces the book on the tidy shelf, waves to his father, and goes outside to enjoy the temporary light.

He walks the streets, waving and greeting some neighbors. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air and oxygen. It felt good to finally get outside after days of reading. he catches eye of someone who didn't belong in this country, eyes seeming confused. What was Robert doing in England? Unless...He sighs. "Our fathers must have a meeting today." Robert is the son of France, and almost seemed like a replica of the wine-loving pervert. He's a total flirt, towards both girls and guys. No one really knew if he was into boys or girls, most just assumed he liked both.

Robert is tall with his father's sexy thin figure. He has medium-length dark brown hair and flirtatious violet eyes. He usually wears a red long-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, tennis shoes, and stud earrings on both sides. The French approached the Brit without changing course or direction, meaning they were going to have to cross paths if only for an instant. Robert stops right in front of Trevor, smiling in his devilish way at the smaller boy. "_Bonjour, mon ami~" _He greets in his home language. Everyone knew what it meant, but when coming from Robert it could mean a number of things, good and bad.

"Good day Robert. To what do we owe the pleasure of having you visit our country?" Trevor replies fancily. "Me and my papa are here because he needs to talk with yours." Robert answers, slyly snaking a hand around Trevor's middle. Trevor simply nudges the arm away, taking a few steps to the side. He can feel his face getting hot and his heart rate speeding up. He hated this feeling he got whenever Robert was around. It made him feel sort of afraid. Afraid of what? Who knows. The French catches the blush and smiles flirtatiously.

He starts to pass by the Brit, stopping to whisper something in his ear that sent a chill up his spine and made him shiver. _"I'll see you around, mon ami."_


	4. Russia: Oleg

Oleg walks the campus at school, watching and frowning at all of the other students. They parted as he passed and scattered like cockroaches whenever he was near, and the poor boy didn't know why. Was he really that scary? Oleg is the son of Russia, so people avoid him even more than his father.

Oleg has long white hair that is just long enough to cover his ruby-red eyes. He wears a heavy black jacket, a long sleeved tan shirt, dark blue jeans with ripped pockets, and brown boots. No one around school other than the teachers called him by his name. His white hair and red eyes had given him the name 'Albino,' and that's what people whispered to each other as they avoided him. Loneliness is a terrible feeling, almost as bad as pain. You feel like no one cares or wants to care. It's like they casted you out only to acknowledge that everyone else in the world exists. But not him. Why not him?

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and makes his way home, boots making prints of his feet in the freshly fallen snow. Upon arriving home he was greeted by the three Baltics, three of four people who don't fear him outside of school. The other is his father, of course. They were shaking more than usual today, so his father must be in a bad mood. This happens frequently ever since Russia started getting phone calls from someone, but won't tell anyone who they're from. Oleg has learned from experience to go and sit in his room whenever Russia wasn't happy.

Something tells Oleg that the calls were from his Aunt Belarus, but he dismisses the thought while making his way through the halls. Up the stairs, down the hall, first door on the right, shut the door. Here he turns on the light to his bedroom and sits on his bed. His room was typical of a teenager. Some music group posters here and there, a somewhat messy floor, and a desk crowded in homework. Nothing much but it was home to him. Oleg lays flat on his back in the middle of his bed, arms and legs stretched out at his sides.

"…I wish I had some friends." He mumbles out loud. He had heard about friends. Apparently friends hang out together, have fun, and help each other out. A lot of people seemed to have friends, and something called 'best friends.' Those sounded nice. He read somewhere that best friends are people you can embarrass or make fun of and they will just laugh at it. That is, if you're not offending them. He wanted friends, but he wanted a best friend or two even more. He sighs. That seemed like a distant dream though. No one wanted to be his friend, so he better get used to being lonely.

There's a knock on his door but he doesn't say anything. Getting used to being alone requires practice, lots of practice. So having someone come into his room and talking to him would ruin the concept, wouldn't it? So he doesn't answer the door. He just lays there and listens to the steady knocks and the sound of his father on the other side, trying to persuade him to come out. It doesn't work so Russia sighs and goes back downstairs. Oleg takes off his jacket, shirt, and boots to crawl into bed and hide under the covers. "…I wish I had some friends." He repeats quietly as he slips into a light nap.


End file.
